


Spiked

by AutisticWriter



Series: Autistic Headcanons [7]
Category: The Fast Show
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Ron Manager, Drink Spiking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hand Flapping, Justice, M/M, One Shot, Sensory Overload, Sharing a Bed, Stimming, Swearing, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 13:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: Ron and Tommy go to a party, but things don’t exactly go to plan.





	Spiked

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing bad happens to Ron, but it's implied the drugger would have done something to him had he not been stopped. Which is why I've marked this 'Chose not to use archive warnings'.

Ron has never really liked parties (the music is always too loud and it’s too crowded and he often has to talk to people he doesn't know), but he doesn’t feel that he can turn down this one; after all, Tommy’s sister isn’t going to turn forty every year, is she? Tommy said he doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to (of course he did, because Tommy is amazing like that; he never pushes him, and understands that Ron can’t cope with a lot of things he considers easy), but he feels bad leaving Tommy to go by himself, and, anyway, it would be boring to spend all evening at home on his own. So, despite Tommy’s reassurance and his own reluctance, he decides to go.

The party is being held at one of those posh pubs (he thinks they’re called gastro pubs), in the reception room. The room is decked out in birthday banners and shit, but Ron is struggling to focus on anything over the noise of the music. He doesn’t understand why people feel the need to turn the music up quite so loud; how can anyone hear themselves think ,let alone hear what anyone is saying?

As his eardrums feel like they are bleeding, Tommy digs into his pocket and hands him the earplugs he bought him. His fingers fumbling slightly, Ron pushes the pieces of rubber into his ears, and the discomfort eases instantly. He smiles at Tommy.

“Thanks, Tom,” he says.

“No problem, Ron,” Tommy says, grinning.

With his earplugs in, Ron can still hear the music, but it’s only background noise. He wonders if this is what ‘normal’ people’s hearing is like. He can hear Tommy clearly too. These earplugs are a good invention.

Once Tommy seems satisfied that Ron is comfortable, they head further into the room. Now his hearing has stopped overloading, Ron takes in all of the banners and balloons, spotting a lovely cake on the table. Tommy locates his sister, and they both head over to her.

“Jane!” he says, grinning as his sister hugs him.

Ron stands at the side, not sure what to do. He’s only met Jane once before, and he thinks she liked him, although he can’t be sure. He’s never been very good at telling if people really mean what they say.

“Tom!” Jane says back, just as loud. “You made it.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if the traffic was going to let up, but luckily it did,” Tommy says, and Ron has to wonder how some people (well, most people, really) are so good at small talk.

Jane looks past Tommy and sees Ron.

“Hi, Ron,” she says, and she hugs him.

Ron stands there stiffly, remembering all the times people hugged him when he was growing up, the times when his mother snapped at him for telling people to leave him alone, remembering how apparently his physical and emotional comfort was nothing compared to people’s feelings. She’s hugging him, but her grip is too loose; without deep pressure, all hugs feel like he’s being stabbed with hot needles. But he doesn’t say any of this, simply biting his lip and waiting it out.

“Um, Jane...” Tommy says. “Don’t you remember what I said about touching Ron?”

Jane lets go of him so suddenly Ron stumbles backwards. “Shit, sorry, Ron, I forgot. Are you all right?”

Ron nods, glad to find the stabbing pain easing. He flaps his hands against his legs, subtly enough that no one should notice. “I... I think so.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jane says, and she seems sincere, but he still doesn’t know if she actually is.

Jane seems to want to talk to Tommy, but his partner tells her they need to go outside. Ron follows after him, flapping his hands a bit more obviously. Ron can see people looking at him, but he tries not to care.

“Are you all right?” Tommy asks once they are outside.

Ron lean his back against the cool brick wall and lets out a slow sigh. “Not really. I hate it when people do that. I know it was an accident, but...”

“But that doesn’t stop you feeling like shit?” Tommy suggests.

“Exactly,” Ron says, nodding.

He leans against Tommy, resting his head on his shoulder. Tommy squeezes his arm and sighs too.

“Do you want to go home?”

Ron shakes his head, not wanting to disappoint Tommy (even though Tommy would probably tell him that he wasn’t disappointing him at all).

“Nah, I’ll be all right in a minute,” he says. And he probably will be. He just wishes people would consider that not everyone wants to be hugged without their consent.

\---

Once Ron has assured him that he’s calmed down, Tommy and Ron head back into the pub. Ron is still flapping, but he’s doing it the way he does when he doesn’t want people to notice. Tommy hates it that Ron feels that he has to stop himself flapping (neither of them know exactly why he does it, but Tommy knows it soothes him and helps to calm him down when he’s stressed), but he can understand why; after all, people have never been very kind about Ron flapping.

They head back upstairs and into the reception room. Even Tommy thinks the music is too loud, so no wonder Ron was struggling.

Tommy spots one of his cousins, and soon finds himself having an in depth chat, mainly about what’s happened in the twenty-odd years since they last saw each other. Tommy doesn’t have much news that his cousin doesn’t already know about (one of the many cons of being in the public eye), but luckily his cousin has a lot to say.

But then he notices that Ron isn’t saying anything. He turns his head and sees his partner stood next to him, staring at the floor and rocking slightly. Wondering how he could have forgotten how much Ron struggles to make small talk, Tommy decides to prompt Ron.

“This is my partner, Ron,” he says, and his cousin shakes Ron’s hand.

And Ron gives him a grateful smile as he somewhat awkwardly joins in their conversation.

\---

Ron’s struggling again. He doesn’t want to tell Tommy, because Tommy’s engrossed in a conversation with some family friends and he feels bad about interrupting him, so he slips out of the room without telling anyone. He flaps his hands as he goes down the stairs, glad to be out of the crowded, noisy reception room.

At the bottom of the stairs, he stops flapping, and starts fidgeting with his ring instead. He loves to flap, but twisting his ring around his finger is far less likely to get noticed. Because, even though it was decades ago, he can’t help but think of taunts he got at school. So he twists his ring as he goes into the main pub. There are far fewer people in here, and he removes his earplugs, knowing he won’t need them in here.

Ron spots the bar at the far end of the room and sits down on one of the barstools. He’s tired even though he hasn’t done anything; although he does seem to get tired a lot quicker than Tommy does. He has to rehearse what he’s about to say several times in his head before he asks the barman for a drink.

“Um... c-can I have a lager please?” he says, still stuttering even though he knew exactly what to say.

The barman doesn’t mention his awkwardness, and pours him a drink. Ron takes the pint glass and is about to take out his wallet when he remembers that the drinks are all paid for. He sips his lager, loving the sensation of the fizzy liquid on his tongue. He puts the glass down and helps himself to some crisps; the strong salty flavour and crunchiness make crisps a particular favourite of his.

Ron has just had his fifth handful of crisps when a man sits down beside him. He looks about Tommy’s age, and has very red hair. The man is drinking a strange cocktail, one of those ones with umbrellas and fruit slices in it.

“Hi, you must be Ron,” the man says. “I’m Richard.”

“Hello,” Ron says, hoping this won’t turn into small talk. He shoves some more crisps into his mouth.

“I saw you on _Match of the Day_ last week,” Richard says, smiling. “You and Tommy don’t half bicker a lot, do you?”

Ron smiles, chuckling slightly. “Yeah, but it’s just on the telly, you know. We never bicker in real life.”

“That’s good. Hey, have you seen the jukebox over there?” Richard gestures behind them with his head; Ron looks where he’s pointing, and notices the rather tired-looking jukebox. “It’s got some quite good tracks on it.”

Ron turns back around and quickly glances at Richard’s face. “What sort of stuff?”

“You know, there’s some Queen, a bit of Elvis and a fair bit of Glam Rock,” Richard says, smiling again.

Ron smiles back, not really sure why Richard has brought this up. He has another sip of his beer. It takes a bit different, but maybe that’s because he’s been eating crisps. The crisps have made him thirsty, so he gulps down half the glass in one go. Richard is smiling, but neither of them have done anything funny.

“Is that your sort of thing?” Richard asks.

Ron shrugs. “Maybe. I’m not that into music, really. I’m more of a TV person.”

“Really? What do you like?”

Ron smiles, and launches into his explanation of why he likes _Monty Python’s Flying Circus_ so much. Richard just sits there, smiling and nodding as he speaks, and Ron loves it when people do this; he’s so used to people telling him to shut up that it’s really nice for someone to actually enjoy listening to him.

To Ron’s excitement, he and Richard sit and chat about telly programmes and comedy for quite a while; Ron doesn’t know exactly how long, but it seems like hours. He’s feeling a bit more comfortable now. The tension he had been feeling in the crowded reception room seems to be going, leaving him feeling rather calm and relaxed. It might be to do with the beer; alcohol always makes him feel pleasantly zoned out. Either way, he feels a lot better now.

At least until he turns his head to look at the clock, and his head spins, his vision going black in the corners. He groans, tightly grasping the bar to stop himself falling off of his stool.

“Are you all right, Ron?” Richard asks, and his voice doesn’t sound right; it’s a bit fuzzy, like when he watches old films with bad audio quality.

“I, I’m just feeling a bit dizzy,” he mumbles, disturbed to find the room starting to spin too. “I think I need some fresh air.”

Ron stands and the room spins. He has to close his eyes and lean against the bar until the feeling stops.

“I’ll come with you,” Richard says, standing up too.

Ron doesn’t really want him to come (he just wants to sit down and calm down in the cool air), but he doesn’t know how to tell Richard this without sounding rude. And he doesn’t want to offend him, because whenever he’s offended people in the past they’ve got angry with him. And Richard has been really kind to him.

So he doesn’t say anything as Richard accompanies him out into the garden. He sits down at one of the wooden tables, pressing his hands against his eyes as the world spins and spins. His ears are ringing, and Ron wonders if he’s going to faint. Richard has sat down beside him, and Ron knows he’s staring at him even though he doesn’t look at him (he doesn’t think he can turn his head without the dizziness getting a lot worse).

Ron hunches forwards, wrapping his arms around his abdomen. Now he feels sick, his stomach churning as nausea floods through his body. He starts to flap his hands, but it’s much harder than normal; it’s as though he has weights strapped to his wrists. He’s never had this feeling before. What’s going on?

“Feel any better?”

“Not really,” Ron says, and he really has to think hard to get the words out. “I f-feel sick.”

“That’s shit, mate,” Richard says. “Come on, let’s get you to the toilets.”

Ron swallows hard, stomach acid burning the back of his throat. “C-Can’t we get Tommy?”

“Yes, but let’s get you to the toilets first. You’ll probably feel better if you’re sick.”

“B-But...” he wants Tommy, but he can’t seem to find the words to voice this. He’s really tired, like he hasn’t slept for days.

“Come on,” Richard says, hauling him to his feet. “Up you get.”

As everything spins, Richard helps him back into the pub. Ron’s feet drag slightly as the drowsiness gets worse. His stomach is churning. But he can’t help but feel a bit anxious; he’s sure Richard is just trying to help, but why won’t he go and get Tommy? He can hardly keep his head up.

“Ron?” Someone says. Through the dizziness and nausea and the oddly comfortable drowsiness clouding his brain, Ron recognises them as Jane. “You don’t look very well.”

“Yeah, he’s feeling sick. I’m taking him to the toilets,” Richard says, and there’s a weird tone to his voice.

Ron’s knees are sagging. He’s so tired. He really needs to sleep.

Jane looks between the pair of them, and she makes a little gasping noise. Just like their voices, it comes across as fuzzy.

“I think you’d better come with me, Ron,” Jane says.

“No, he’s all right with me,” Richard says, raising his voice slightly.

“No, he’s coming with me,” Jane says, and she takes his arm.

But there are no needles of pain.

Ron lets out a shuddering breath and his head flops against Jane’s shoulder.

“Let’s go get Tommy,” Jane says, and Ron wonders where Richard has gone.

His feet scuff against the carpet as Jane steers him along. He has his eyes screwed up, so he has no idea where he’s going. All he knows is that he feels dreadful. Hopefully Tommy can help him feel better. Or at least take him home so he can feel crap in the comfort of his own bed.

\---

Tommy is halfway through a football anecdote when someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns his head and finds himself looking into the anxious face of a woman he vaguely recognises.

“Your sister’s looking for you,” she says, and she sounds panicked. “She says something’s wrong with Ron.”

Tommy feels his stomach clench. “Where is he?”

“Downstairs in the pub.”

“Thanks,” Tommy mumbles, and he hurtles off in search of Ron and Jane.

What could be wrong with Ron? Is he having a meltdown? Is he ill? Has he hurt himself? Either way, Tommy can’t help but worry until he feels rather sick, because the thought of something bad happening to his partner is fucking terrifying.

He runs into the pub, and that’s when he sees them. Jane is sat at a table in one of the booths, her arm around Ron, who is slumped against her. Is he unconscious?

He rushes right up to them, and sits down next to Ron. He’s out of breath, but he hardly notices. Ron is conscious, but only just; his eyes are barely open, and he’s slumping against Jane like he doesn’t have the strength to sit up.

“Fucking hell, Ron,” he says, staring at his semiconscious partner. Ron must recognise his voice, because he smiles slightly. He looks at his sister, who looks almost as scared as he feels. “What the hell’s wrong with him?”

“I think he might’ve been drugged,” Jane says, and her voice is trembling.

“Drugged?” Tommy says, wanting to shout but actually forcing the word out as a frantic whisper.

“Yeah, ‘cause the barman said Ron’s only had a pint of lager, and that’s not enough to get him this pissed, is it?”

Tommy shakes his head, knowing that it takes at least a few pints to get Ron drunk. And he’s never seen Ron like this, even when he’s got blind drunk. The ends of Jane’s long hair are brushing against Ron’s forehead. That should be setting off his sensory issues (Ron hates being tickled), but, if it does, Ron doesn’t respond. Tommy’s stomach is churning, and he knows why; it seems more and more likely that Jane’s theory is correct.

“Ron?” he says, and he shakes Ron’s shoulder. Ron’s head flops backwards against the booth like he hasn’t got any strength in his neck. “Ron! Please, talk to me.”

Ron blinks slowly, his eyes glassy. His head flops in Tommy’s direction, and he smiles weakly. And Tommy finds his eyes starting to sting as Ron reaches (slowly, as though he’s moving through water) for his hand and holds it in his weak grip.

“Who could’ve drugged him?” Tommy asks Jane, tightly grasping Ron’s hand between both of his own.

“I’ve got an idea,” she says. “But don’t think about that now. We’ve called the police, and they can talk to Ron about it when he’s better. Just worry about Ron for now, all right?”

Jane smiles, and Tommy sees genuine fear in his older sister’s eyes.

Tommy sighs. “All right.”

With help from a couple of blokes, Tommy gets Ron to his feet and half carries, half drags him out of the pub and to their car. Hurriedly thanking everyone for their help, Tommy settles Ron down on the back seat, disturbed to find him more unresponsive than ever.

As Tommy gets into the driver’s seat, Jane grabs him and pulls him into a tight hug.

“He’ll be all right, Tom,” she whispers into his ear, before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

As he drives them home, Tommy has to hope his sister is right. And he also hopes they find the arsehole that did this to poor Ron.

\---

When Ron wakes up, he feels like he was the worst hangover ever, yet he can’t remember getting drunk. To be honest, he can’t remember much at all.

Sudden panic grips him, and he raises his head, needing to know where the hell he is. It makes his head pound and his ears ring, but Ron relaxes slightly when he realises he’s in his own bed. He lets his head flop back against the pillow, screwing his eyes up.

Why does he feel so ill? What happened last night? All he can remember is arriving in a posh pub with Tommy... and then waking up in bed. Why can’t he recall however many hours of his own memory?

It is incredibly disconcerting to not remember things; Ron has always had a rather good memory, and to forget something so big as an entire evening is really disturbing. What if something bad happened?

Sometime later (he can’t be bothered to sit up and look at the clock), the door opens, and Tommy comes into the room.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Tommy says, smiling. He sits down on the bed and holds Ron’s hand. “Are you feeling any better?”

“No, I feel awful. Tommy, what’s happened to me?”

Tommy sighs. “Someone spiked your drink last night.”

“What?!” Ron says, horrified. He wants to flap, but he can’t bring himself to do it; he’s so tired.

“Yeah, we’re not sure who did it, though Jane’s got an idea. We’re going to have to give police statements when you’re feeling better.”

Ron closes his eyes, but his mind is whirring. He can’t believe it. Someone put something in his drink. So that’s why his memory’s so bad.

Of course, talking to the police will be difficult given he can’t remember a thing, but hopefully Jane and whoever else he was with when he was out of it will be able to give the police some useful information. Because that means the person who drugged him won’t be able to drug anyone else for a very long time.

\---

Tommy knows he’ll need to have a better chat with Ron later, but right now he needs to let Ron rest. Hopefully the drugs will be out of his system in a few hours, and he’ll start feeling better soon, because the thought of Ron being ill (because a fucking wanker drugged him) is scary and upsetting.

But, until then, he doesn’t want Ron to lay here feeling like crap on his own. And Ron doesn’t protest when Tommy gets into bed with him. They cuddle up together, Ron resting his head on Tommy’s chest, and Tommy almost cries as relief overwhelms him – because Ron is safe, he’ll get better soon, and hopefully they’ll get the wanker who did this to him. Fighting back tears, Tommy holds Ron close, and, slowly, they both drift off to sleep.


End file.
